My Cup Runneth Over

Mother’s Day is, without question, my most cherished day of the year. It is not the cards or the flowers that move me, but the quiet invitation to reflect.

Becoming a mother was a conscious and deeply personal decision. It was a sacred leap into the unknown. Despite all that felt uncertain and the odds that were against us, I knew only that I was ready to love in a way that would ask everything of me.

Mother’s Day, for me, lives in the simplest of moments. It is the taste of good food, the sound of music drifting in the air, and the dirt under my nails from planting basil or lavender. It is laughter on a picnic blanket, the warmth of the sun in a wide-open park, and vegetables cooking on the grill. These small things restore me. They remind me of who I am.

When life grows heavy, this day calls me back to the people who keep me steady. Those who have carried me through unraveling and loved me whole. My best friend and partner, steady and thoughtful, becomes the quiet guardian of my joy.

This is what grace feels like. A table set for sharing, music in the background, a roof overhead, and, most of all, a love that does not waver. Love that is mutual, enduring, and unafraid.

My children, these incredible souls I once carried, continue to astonish me. I am endlessly proud of them. They are my teachers, my mirrors, and my legacy. They may never fully understand the magnitude of what they have given me, or how deeply I admire the people they are becoming. Still, I hope they will always feel my love quietly woven into the fabric of their lives.

Mother’s Day reminds me that I hold everything I once dreamed of: a place to belong, a life with meaning, and a love that whispers, “I am here. I always will be.”